I spent some time in a mental hospital during my senior year of high school. I’d been a horrible bulimic for eight years and therapy wasn’t helping, especially since I spent most of my therapy sessions discussing how fine I was and how lovely the weather was. And one day during my Senior Year, I ate too much at lunch, and I thought I was going to die. Because to me… full=death. But I couldn’t find a place to throw up. And so finally, right then and there, in the middle of the Senior Hallway, I decided I was not fine – not at all. And I walked into my guidance counselor’s office and I said: “Call my parents. I need to be hospitalized. I can’t handle anything. Someone needs to help me.”

Here is a picture of me that was taken the week before I was hospitalized. I’m there in the Blue Suit.

I was a student government officer to a class of close to a thousand. An athlete, too. Relatively pretty. Smart. Seemingly confident. My Senior superlative was “Leading Leader.” In this picture I was co-hosting the Homecoming Pep Rally for the entire high school. Wearing the corsage to show I’d just been nominated for Homecoming Court. People who need help sometimes look a lot like people who don’t need help.

And so that counselor called my parents, and they came right away. And they found a place for me to get help. I often think about what that day must have been like for them. Maybe they desperately wanted to say No, No it will be okay! Not a hospital! We are your parents! We can fix this!But they didn’t. The moment I became brave enough to admit I needed help they believed me, and despite the shock, the pain, the stigma . . . they gave me the exact help I asked for.

I’ve never written about my hospital stay before, because a whole lot is fuzzy, and I can’t get a real grip on the memories. Back then not many specialized eating disorder hospitals existed, so the one I went to was a real mental hospital. There were only two of us on the unit with eating issues, the others were there because they were mildly schizophrenic, drug addicted, depressed or suicide risks. Many of them had violent tendencies. I do not remember being afraid of any of them. I do remember being afraid, in one way or another, of most of the people in my high school.

There was one man on our unit who spoke only in numbers. I ignored him at first . . . it’s hard to know what the appropriate response is to “Twenty-one ninety-six forty NINE?” But one day I decided to take a guess. “Fourteen?” I responded tentatively. I remember his face changing from empty to surprised to happy. Then back to empty, quickly. But I definitely saw happy, for a moment there. That taught me to try, at least once, to speak each person’s special language.

There was a sandy haired girl who always hung her head so low that I never really saw her face. I do remember what her arm looked like, though, because it was sliced up like a pre-cut ham. I saw it up close because I held her hand once when she started crying during a therapy session. She pulled it away at first but then she offered it back to me a few moments later. I remember that her hand was very cold, but it warmed up after a while. I don’t remember her name. I do remember her story and it was very, very sad. She was right to be crazy.

There was my roommate. I will call her Mary Margaret. Unable to speak with my little Sister, I allowed Mary Margaret to take Sister’s place for the weeks I was hospitalized. We whispered long into the night, every night. Mary Margaret was from a tight knit, fiercely loving family too, and we wondered aloud for hours how we ended up in that room together. One night, very late, we wrote vows that said we promised to take care of each other forever. We both signed the vows, with crayons because we weren’t allowed to have pencils. Mary Margaret made me promise not to eat the crayons. I told her maybe she should. We laughed. Mary Margaret was eighty pounds during her stay. She used to hide her food in her huge sweatshirt at lunch time and sneak it to me when we got back to our room. Mary Margaret and I saw each other once in the real world and then never again. We did not honor our vows to take care of each other forever. I’ve never looked for Mary Margaret, I’ve never even Googled her name. I’m too afraid. I know the survival statistics for anorexics.

There was art therapy and dance therapy and group therapy. It all made sense to me. The things the other patients said made sense to me, even though they weren’t things that my peers in my real life would have ever, ever said. Everyone had to listen to each other. There were rules about how to listen and how to respond. There were lessons about how to empathize and where to find the courage to speak. All the lessons made sense to me. I enjoyed them much more than my high school classes. They seemed much more important to me. We learned how to care, about ourselves and about each other.

There was the field trip we took to the art museum in Washington D.C. We rode into the big city on a small bus, we mental patients.We had a special appointment time at the museum, our own private tour. Because there were other groups and we weren’t to mingle with the normal people. I remember thinking that was probably best. We had a rule that we would all need to hold hands. In a long line. Like an extremely motley and sedated Conga Line. Throughout our entire tour.

I remember wondering why Mary Margaret and I had to hold hands with the group. We were relatively well behaved. We’re people pleasers, we bulimics and anorexics. I thought maybe our therapists were concerned that I would run away and attack the diners in the cafeteria and that Mary Margaret might run away with me and stand there and starve.

Then I remember walking by the museum cafeteria, and seeing twenty slices of pie revolving around on one of those buffet lazy susans. And I remember suddenly feeling very grateful that my hands were being held. I felt safe.

That’s what we all wanted. Safety -someone or some structure that would save us from ourselves, from the strange real world that others seemed to be navigating so flawlessly and we just couldn’t, at the time, for whatever reason.

And I remember trembling the morning of my release. I remember knowing I wasn’t ready, and knowing I had to go anyway, because I would never be ready. Because inside the hospital was so much easier and safer and surer than outside the hospital. And I knew I could get much too comfortable. Much too safe.

Because it all made sense to me in there. And that was a little confusing.

I’ve never done this before, but I’m going to go ahead and publish this without editing it first. I’m afraid that if I edit it at all, I’ll edit out all of it.

157 Comments

Thank you, Glennon, and thank you to the kind people who commented and support each other. I do not read comments on stories on the rest of the internet because they are almost always cruel and absurd and because I was once skewered by commenters when a story about my family appeared in the newspaper. It is refreshing to see all these comments of people who are sharing stories and compassion.

Pretty amazing stuff here. Because people like you chose to tell your stories, people like my daughter have been able to live through their anorexia without feeling shame (not all people and communities are there and it makes me sad, but I am happy we are).

I was hospitalized for anorexia when I was 13… all the way back in the early 90’s. Mental hospital. Only kid in the unit with an eating disorder. All the other patients in my unit had done stuff like set their cats on fire or pulled a knife on their mother. It was all so surreal… the blue striped pjs, being forced to eat butter or drink ensure, only being able to use crayons and going to the bathroom with the door wide open and a staff member listening.

I’ve jumped back on the train with bulimia… now as a wife and a mother to a kindergartener and a toddler. I can’t seem to shake it and it shames me. I shame me. But this story you shared? It helps. Thank you.

Thank you for posting without editing. What a shame it would be to lose even a single, brave word. And this “She was right to be crazy” made me sigh RIGHT ON. It echoes what my mother said to me recently “you have many good reasons to be depressed. So hang in there.” Sometimes life deals us more than anyone should have to handle and going crazy isn’t failure, it’s the only sane thing to do.

Thank you, Glennon for reporting this! I can so relate to this on so many levels. I too suffer from an eating disorder (recently diagnosed) and depression. You are so brave to share this with everyone. You truly are an inspiration to me!

I loved a Million Little Pieces – even if some of it was fictionalized. I love your brutal honesty. One of Rob Lowe’s two books I can’t remember which now – describes his time in rehab as the time that he learned life skills. I have been compulsive behavior (eating for me) and in therapy for several years and as you say “it all made sense.” Other “people” do not talk about this stuff but it is what makes life become bearable, acceptable and now I also know how to be joyful in the light along with the pain of the dark. Namaste

Glennon, I don’t know if you fully understand what an amazing thing you have created. Look at these comments…we are sharing difficult, painful, important, BRUTIFUL things. We are sharing the darkest moments of out lives. And everyone is supporting one another! There is not a single comment of anyone passing judgment or condemning one another. We are lifting each other up and doing out best to help each other get through the hard times and reminding each other that things can and do get better. I can’t think of a single other place…especially on the internet…where this happens. Where there is nothing but support and kindness and love and NO judgment! YOU did this, Glennon. You put this community together and it’s a feat that I don’t think just anyone could accomplish. You have something special. I really think people who have been through the darkest days are the ones best able to help others through theirs. I know this part of your life could not have been easy, but I think God gave you these experiences so that you could be the medium through which so many others gain the strength to carry on. Thank you!

Its probably not correct to say I enjoyed reading that, but I did. You worded it all so well, and you said so many things that relate to other problems besides bulimia. I think everyone who reads this will find something to which they can relate.
Thanks.

I often don’t comment because I see so many comments and feel like my little comment has been said many times over by so many meaningful folks. But today I feel like you could use a few extra comments, this is heavy stuff all this sharing. Thank you for continuing to share yourself and your story.

Wow. Thank you. A million times thank you. For submitting without editing, for sharing a memory that still has feeling and life and sadness and hope.
Your story is so different and yet the same as my story and far too many stories that those of us who eventually spiral into wanting to live again.
Hope lives in these stories and holding hands and in exhaling that far to deep breath of hope; the moment you step back into life.

With love and kudos to you and all of us who got up today.
Be Well. I AM.
Shannon <3

Thank you, a million times. You continue to be my Maya and heal me a little every time. You make me cry, happy and sad, but both are necessary.

I was hospitalized as a relatively new mom, with severe ppd. I do not share that, or the details, very often because part of it was so terrible and I didn’t feel safe, and I was made to feel ashamed because I needed help.

You are one of my heroes. I wish I had been brave like you in high school. But my parents would have done the opposite. I like to joke they invented don’t ask, don’t tell.

I find myself reading so many books about mental illness. Sometimes it helps, I don’t feel alone. Others it’s a reminder that I may not be totally ok, but I’m better than I have been. Some can trigger, so I have to be careful.

Thank you for making this a safe place. Your strength and truth telling really makes a difference in my life. Xo

I was a sophomore in college when I ended up in “Hotel Hell” aka the Eating Diasters Unit of Dominion Hospital. I remember those odd field trips, we went to Dumbarton Oaks and other random places. Looking back I think having that experience really gave me some different perspectives on people and acceptance of differences in people. While I am not sure what every happen to my actual roommate the girl across the hall and I are still friends almost 27 years later.

After I read Carry On Warrior, I began reading it to my kids. The ones at home are 24,23,17 and 15. The girls are 23 and 17. I went on to read chapters to my girls while I sat on the floor in the hall outside the bathroom and they did their make up in the bathroom mirror. I always include the boys, too. We’d laugh and choke back tears and say “me too”. I read these blogs to them. It is a normal part of our life.
It was a very normal thing for me to ask my 17 yr. old when she got home from school (senior year) “Did you have any anxiety, today.? Oh, what class were you in when it hit? Did you need to leave the classroom? You can always text me – text me next time”. Our doctor is very attentive. The school nurse knew and was there for her.
About a year ago she was having a hard panic attack and she slid down the cabinets and sat on the kitchen floor. Her brothers and sister and I just went and sat there with her until it was over.
We have been loving and caring for that part of my daughter since she was very little. A Mini me. She is making it. She is okay. We got this. *Moms, families, care-givers: we have this site. We can do this together.*

I’ve only said this to 2 people in my whole life but my way of easing pain was to stop talking during periods of my childhood for days, weeks and months, off and on. My record was 23 days. I was a Senior in High School. No one ever noticed or if they did, never said anything. It’s called an being an “Elective Mute”. I learned about it when Princess Diana died. She had this, too. I never knew there was a name for it, or that it was a thing, because, well, like I said, no one noticed.

This breaks my heart BQ. I’d like to think if I’d known you I would have noticed. I was in a lot of pain myself. I’m sorry no one noticed.

My son has anxiety, thankfully not as severe as mine. One day my son came home, told me his friend had a panic attack in class. While the teacher tried to help, it was my son and another friend that got him through it. That was the start of me forgiving myself for passing it on to him, because I realized I also have him empathy and coping tools.

I was a first grade teacher in the big city. I had a little girl who didnt talk, she had never been to school before. It was a day or two before I realized she had not spoken to me. II took her aside and told her that everyone in that whole school spoke to me because I was very kind. I would like her to think I was kind too, because if she didnt talk to me, I would not know if she was learning how to read. The child was selectively mute in many circumstances but she never shut her mouth in my class…..and oh could she read!

My daughter is very ill from bulimia nervosa and there is very little help or hope to parents that I can find. I am a recovering alcoholic who has attended AA and Alanon for almost 2 decades but I find that my experience only helps so much. My daughter has always had mental health issues (autistic spectrum, OCD tendencies) and there has always been food issues whether it was the time we ate, what we ate, or how I cooked what we ate. She was anorexic for several years and had no period and now she is binge eating and vomiting. In the past year it has gotten worse and she has also plucked out all her eyebrows and picked the skin on her face and shoulders until they are completely covered with sores and scars. She is now 20 years old and unless she wants help we are pretty much powerless. Thanks to Obama our insurance sucks so it would be a cash deal no matter what we do. I will take being an alcoholic any day over being a bulimic. You can keep away from alcohol, but not food. It is a nightmare. Thanks for you share and letting me dump.

This may not help in the eating part of her life ( although the topic is briefly mentioned) but if your daughter is a reader at all giving her the book Aspergirls by Rudy Simone and also you reading it may help with support. It covers Autism in girls in such an understanding and supportive way that she may feel less alone or see some issues in her life that she is informed or encouraged by. It covers OCD a bit too but it’s such a compassionately written book for daughters and mothers on the autism spectrum scale. It changed my life and helped me in my mid twenties become whole and feel understood….

Just when I thought I couldn’t love you anymore, you go and share this. Thank you Glennon for making it ok to not be perfect. In sharing your reality, you make your legions of followers, including me, maybe accept their unperfect reality with more peace and grace. Thank you.

Thank you so much for sharing this. Your vulnerability is such a gift to me and Your writing reminds me, that us who have struggled with mental illness can speak so much truth to each other and we are all dying to hear truth and stop believing the lies of our illnesses. There is so much stigma in hospitalization and treatment, so thank you for sharing your experience and normalizing it…if we all shared, we would be that much further along in healing.

I spent time in the hospital for depression a few years ago. I am so grateful for my dear friend who helped me to know that it was okay to go, who called my mom and my husband for me, and who has seen me through so much. I hated leaving my kids for that week. I still don’t talk about it with more than a couple of people. But it felt so safe there. My nurse had been through it, too, so I trusted her. The people in group therapy with me were wonderful and real, and I hope that they are okay now. Especially the young mother who left on my second day, but was back, bandages on her wrists, a few days later. She went for ECT that day.
Like you, I was afraid to leave. It was hard coming back to real life. But I’m doing it. I have a great doctor and husband and friend who help me through. I can do hard things, maybe. Because I already did. I wish I were brave enough to put my last name on this and own it the way you do.

You are brave enough…even without a last name on here…because you went…and told about it…I’ve been several times in the last 7 years since my 4th child was born. Thank you for your comment. ..the most powerful words are “me too.”

Beautiful and brave, thank you for sharing. You never know the internal struggles of others and it is so important to treat everyone kindly, a little connection goes along way. Thank you for not editing. XO

G, just out of curiosity, how much of your eating disorder do you attribute to growing up where you did? We are raising a 6 y.o. girl in NoVA. The pressures put on kids around here terrifies me. I work in the public mental health system, and I KNOW that there are MANY teens right now, just like you (btw, if you were at Dominion, you’ll be happy to know they now have a specialized unit for eating disordered adolescents).

My daughter, just the other night, had a complete meltdown because the rainbow loom bracelet she was making was “ruined” because one if the bands was just a shade lighter than all the rest. She wanted to tear it apart and start over because it had to be perfect. We had a loooong talk, where I made her say, repeatedly, “I’m not perfect. I make mistakes. And that’s ok.” At SIX, she had a really hard time getting out the “and that’s okay” part. She told me that it feels like life is just a big game, and the one who is the most perfect wins in the end. Clearly, we have a lot of work ahead of us.

I have a daughter on the OCD spectrum and we deal with things like this all the time, and it was the worst at age 3, though it still flares up from time to time like when she’s not in a structured environment (like summer vacay), and I’m missing school right now. She’s also about 6 years old. A lot of work is right! Here’s hoping for the best for both of them.

The book talking back to OCD along with cognitive therapy really helped my daughter with anxiety induced OCD. We work with her fears every day in little ways and she is leaps and bounds better than she was at four or six;) there is hope. We also took her out of school into the safer more controlled atmosphere of home. It was a life saver and changer. Hard at first figuring out logistics but now I love homeschooling and having them home.

I don’t know if this will help, but I know there is a culture or religion, that when they make something artistic, they purposely leave an imperfection, in honor to God, to humbly remind themselves that they are not perfect, but God is. I’m a perfectionist and have OCD when it comes to my crafting, and this really touched my heart.

“That’s what we all wanted. Safety -someone or some structure that would save us from ourselves, from the strange real world that others seemed to be navigating so flawlessly and we just couldn’t, at the time, for whatever reason”

Glennon: Thank you for your vulnerability and truth. I have been to therapist and psychiatrist for the past 2 weeks (& months before) trying to help my daughter cope with cutting. While I don’t fully understand her need to cut, or one’s need to eat (or not eat), I do understand what it’s like to not flush my system and numb myself with alcohol as I have been in recovery for just over 2.5 years. All of these articles are continuous reminders of how to live, trust, be vulnerable and brave. My pray is for Mary Margaret to be out there somewhere and my hope is that she has any one of the tools I’ve learned in AA, Celebrate Recovery, or your written words in COW and on this blog. My God be with her wherever her soul is. Praying for all the Mary Margaret’s out there that are lost.
All love.
Sara (from STL)

Yay!! I am sitting at my desk with grateful tears in my eyes! I am making it one day at a time and I know my red headed 14 year old baby girl will make her way too. It’s just painful to watch and know I can’t just FIX. You make my world a better place, G. All love.

My daughter began cutting in middle school (4 years ago). I never found another Mom to talk with about it. I have felt there is such a stigma to it, the violence of it, or something. It feels so dark and terrible. Besides my husband and my self, no one in our family knows she was doing it. It makes me feel so isolated. I am happy to tell you that as soon as we found out she was doing it, we got her help and covered her with love and extra attention and wouldn’t let her shut us out. It was grueling work, fighting emotional disconnect and teen angst. She had one re-occurrence about 9 months later that landed us in the pediatric ED, but she has not been cutting since! She still struggles with societal anxiety, perfectionism and low self esteem, but she is a different child than those dark days. And now, she talks to us about how she feels, no matter what. So I know her struggles and can help her work through them. I will say special prayers for your little girl while I’m praying for mine (she just turned 15). Peace and love-

G, I don’t know you, but I love your story. I thought of you earlier this morning. I was also thinking of President Obama and how if I ever met him, it would be difficult not to give him a bear hug! He has been doing hard things. I would tell Mrs. Obama how much I admire her grace and poise. I also imagined Oprah nearby, to whom I would quote, “Gossip means we haven’t emboldened ourselves to speak directly to the person we take issue with.” Then I would say to her: You taught me that! Lastly, I would ask her: How are you, sister? Anyways, I thought of you. And a vision ran across my mind’s eye. I saw you as a little girl–strong. Wearing a breastplate and royal cape. You had a magnificent sword and you raised it up, high above your head. With all your strength, you drove that sword into the ground before you. And the Earth quaked and waves of dust and light spanned out from beneath you to the right and to the left. The background is darkish purple with a strong sense of the sun breaking through on the upper, right hand side. When I saw this, it reminded me of Esther, and how she accepted the call to save Israel (chapter 4, verse 14). It reminded me of your answer to the call to rise to into your purpose, to share your stories of our human-dust and light. It reminded me of Mother Angelou, our dear sister Oprah, Mrs. Obama and Pres. Obama, rising into their purposes for ‘such a time as this.’ Crazy, cruel things are happening on our planet, but your story reminds me that beauty is so much bigger and brighter! And beauty will win. Love will win, in the end. My brother is diagnosed with schizophrenia–but I think he is more sane than I will ever be. He sees the world and its flaws and its beauty, and it creates a complex work within his mind. I see the world and its flaws and beauty and I force myself to look away, as my little heart cannot handle all of what the world shows me. No, I’m glad you did not edit this post. The world needs this story. We need to see the goodness inside the walls of our mental hospitals and inside the hearts of its inhabitants. I am convinced that there is so much raw beauty to behold there. And so much for my calloused heart to learn.

I cried reading this. You perfectly described my feelings going through high school and now even as an adult, wife, mom of 3 kids, etc. etc.

I wonder often how everyone seems to manage basic functions so well and I feel like I can’t do anything right.

I fantasize about my body looking “normal” so people wouldn’t naturally look at me like they do now, like I’m a woman who can’t take care of herself. It doesn’t seem to matter how much good I do in life and how accomplished I can be, because all it takes is one condescending look from a physically fit person to throw me into a shame spiral.

Tara – you know how Glennon said “People who need help sometimes look a lot like people who don’t need help.” That’s probably the case with that ‘physically fit person’. So when they shoot you a condescending look, give them a big smile, maybe say a silent prayer for them, and remember you are loved – by your hubby, your kids and this community!

Amen Allison. I love you Tara!!! I mean that with my whole heart. Coming from a fluffy mama who may not have a perfect body…..though who decides what is perfect?….. but I am perfectly loved, and so are you!!! Xoxox

i left a comment on the interview you posted last night, and I said i wasn’t going to edit it and I’m doing it again so here I go:

to i am one of those people who don’t look like i need help and even though i KNOW that i do, and i actually have it (and have had it for a long time), I still find myself thinking that I’m going to have to go inpatient somewhere before something finally helps. does that make sense? I’m okay enough to function because I learned how to tape and glue and stitch myself together so everything didn’t fall out of me and scare everyone (and myself), but the problem is that I don’t know how to stop doing that so I can actually look all of it in the metaphorical eye and learn how to handle it. so I’m stuck and I’ve been stuck for years and I’m scared that I’m always going to be stuck. I know there isn’t a magic solution, no matter how much I want one, but I wanted to ask you if you have any thoughts about this because you have been there.

and thank you for bringing out these questions in me. I know I need to ask them.

for some reason your comment really stood out to me – i’m not sure why.

it’s a big deal to feel like you’re having an out of body experience 90% of the time – and I get the sense that’s what you’re experiencing here. I am not an expert in ANYTHING – I just know that it’s a HUGE deal that you are self-aware. Being self-aware is exhausting. Sometimes it seems like people who are oblivious to their struggles or their tape and glue have it easier.

I love, love, LOVE the song Beam Me Up by P!nk. Whenever I feel like it’s all too much I give it a listen and I take solace in knowing that I’m not alone in whatever struggle I’m having.

Rachel; I understand that feeling… If you are a reader a book that really helped me overcome those feelings was echart Tolle s a The Power of Now… Though the concept was simple it was so validating to become aware of the great gift of being and to allow other thoughts to flow. Another book that also gave meaningful yet practical guides for a fulfilling journey was Pamela Quests book” living the Reki way.” It sound out there but it had so many valuable chapters to use in every day life to help with those feelings. I wish you well

I wish I had an answer for you. I’m going to say acceptance, but I know that is easier said than done. I know I may have to be on anxiety meds for the rest of my life, and depression, and pain meds….and I wish I could just be BRAVE all the time. For whatever reason, I’m not. So I try to be gentle with myself and just accept this is what I need to do.

So…about 8 weeks ago, I ended up on the psych unit of my local hospital. I’m thirty two years old and at the time I was six weeks pregnant. I hadn’t slept in days, I was having a bad reaction to the Prozac my doctor had put me on to curb the onset of huge anxiety attacks that I had been experiencing since my brother’s suicide attempt six months ago. I’m pretty sure I was feeling suicidal myself though it is still hard to admit that right now. I mean, I’m pregnant (and it was planned), I “should” be happy, right, and I am a successful career woman, a good mom (i think) with a happy marriage–things should be great, right? The first night I was there I was in tears and total panic, convinced that I had just completely screwed up my life, that I was going to lose my husband and my son and this baby. That i was falling part and wasn’t going to be able to put myself back together again. That was SO goddamned weak and why couldn’t i just pull it together. And the nurse? She held my hand for the better part of two hours and asked me to picture where I wanted to be in a year. She told me I’d be okay. That I was in fact fixable and this was not a place you “end up in,” its a net that catches you so you can get back up again. Spent five days there and was released, spent the next few weeks trying to adjust meds and deal with the first trimester of pregnancy, and now…well, now I am trying to deal with the shame of falling part, the forgiving of myself for falling part, and the moving forward with some improving coping skills (still not perfect, but I am getting better). The ENTIRE time I was there, Glennon, and many times since I have been out, I thought about your story. I had read your book last year and I kept telling myself “G could do this. Other women like us have done this. You can do this.” Your truthtelling and this community of women helped a very scared mama get through something pretty damn terrifying (at least to her) and I am not sure if I will ever be able to truly express my gratitude to you and these women. The fact that this post popped up today, on a day when I was feeling particularly crappy and beating the crap out of myself emotionally for falling apart makes me believe that the spirit of kindness and compassion that we’ve created here is truly taking care of all of us. I haven’t figured out my thoughts about god yet, but I do know that women can be pretty darn amazing at reaching out and out truthtelling makes us stronger, even when we feel weak. Thank you and i thank the rest of you for sharing your stories as well.

I feel so proud of you for doing what needed to be done to take care of yourself so that you could take care of your family. I am glad you fell apart because I am sure you are now stronger. I am so proud of you.

Kate- your experience will help others down the road. Please know that the best teachers/healers in life are those who have walked through the fire themselves. Take G for example, just consider yourself in the training stages because some day you will be there for another little bird with exactly the right words for medicine and a healing hug.
One baby step at a time 🙂
Hugs,
Anne

Oh sweet dear Kate, honey. I am sending love to you and I wish I could hug you. It will be ok. I had prenatal depression with my second baby. Between the pain you are feeling for your brother, and hormones, this is not your fault. No shame to be felt. Bless that nurse. We are all holding your hand here. Xoxo

Way to go Kate, way to go! YOU are strong enough. I remind myself often that G did, and so can I. I’m thankful that you were caught by the safety net; I hope you are, too. Hang in there, girl. #CarryOnWarrior

Glennon,
Thank you. One part of your story that stood out to me was how you enjoyed the lessons on empathy and having the courage to speak better than your high school classes. It made me think, why don’t we have Empathy 101 and Find Your Voice classes in high school? How beautiful that would be.
Thank you for being brave enough to share, unedited. It is perfect. I wouldn’t change a thing.

In Canada, our high schools are starting to understand the impact of mental illness, and in the east, there are schools that offer Mental health, its a core subject like math, offered at every grade level and its compulsory. It would have yoga, and meditation components. This is where we need to move toward, because its a hidden threat to our young people, and we need to arm all of them with the tools they need to be compassionate and knowledgeable people.

Thank you for being brave enough to share your story. I first read this a couple years ago, when ‘Don’t Carpe Diem’ introduced you to me. I loved your words so much I spent the next week or so going back and reading your entire blog from the beginning. I had a very difficult childhood, filled with abuse and neglect, and parents who were more concerned with their next drunken or drug-filled stuper than their own children. Some days, I marvel at how ‘normal’ I turned out. I’m now 31 and married with kids, have a steady job and love my kids more than life itself. Other days, I think about the boughts of anxiety and depression that come more often than I would like, and the unhappy marriage that I’m stuck in because I have no support system and no means of financially supporting myself and my kids. It’s empowering each time I read your words and see how far you have come from where you once were. So thank you. Every single day, thank you for showing up and giving hope to those of us who are still not quite out of that dark place.

Michelle,
I was also introduced to Glennon and all the Monkees with “Don’t Carpe Diem” and also read her whole blog and so many comments for days following…
Just wanted to say thank you for sharing, being vulnerable, and that you are loved. Carry On Warrior! <3

Glennon,
You have been a blessing to my life……..I’ve read your book twice and find something new to relate to every time…….I wish you were my neighbor/sister/friend/co-worker so I could hang out and talk with you daily. Thank you for your honesty, your beautiful words, and your love of love.

Thank you, thank you, thank you. I am so grateful for your honesty. I was a bulimic for many years before I got married. Now many years later, my safety is found in being overweight to keep people at a safe distance, to test ‘Do you really love me for ME?”, and to guard me from male attention. It’s killing me to be fat, killing me in every way – mind, body, and soul. I just started counseling again after over 15 years. Maybe I can finally finish healing.

From the bottom of my heart I thank God for you, Glennon. And for all the other brave warriors. For so many who silently suffer (and grow) through the painful journey of life- especially those of us, like you, who were born without the layer of protective armor to shield us from feeling too deeply. I also suffered for many years with undiagnosed, untreated depression, suicidal thoughts, OCD and eating disorders. Unfortunately, I was an obsessive people pleaser and overcome with shame. Like you, the public me looked nothing like the private me felt. I worked extra hard to get good grades, held a student government position, and my Senior Superlative was “Most Cheerful”…it was exhausting. I have never really gotten professional help, so my journey to “O.K.” and my climb to “Happy” has been hard. I still struggle at times ( especially with body image, and worthiness). Thank God for my closest friends/’therapists’ who know all and love me no matter what.Sadly, both of theses amazing warrior friends (living in opposite ends of the country) went on to have daughters who suffered from anorexia. Coincidence? I think not. Its unbelievable how many life events we have shared insights on, supported each other through,and have developed our deeper compassion and empathy for not just each other- but for all of those we’ll never even know. Especially those who suffer silently and struggle with shame. Thank YOU, Glennon for talking so openly about your life. Blessings!

G,
Thank you so much for this post. One of my best friends has been fighting this same battle and recently checked herself into a facility. I am overwhelmed by her courage and willingness to get better. I know this is just the beginning but it is a start! I have spoken with her since she has been admitted and her strength is amazing. My question for you is what do we do to prepare for her arrival back home? What can I do to be the best support for her? Do we change what we do (snacks and deserts at book club) or do we keep doing what we do? Help!! She has a husband and kids and friends who love her, her success is important to us and we want to provide a loving environment for her to help her, she is so afraid of failing. I know only she can decide her success or failure, I will take any advice you can give us!

I love your brave words– they inspire me to ask for help… I need help. My sweet 17 year old daughter is’ extra-feely’. She is highly anxious- we have tried talk therapy, horse therapy, and yoga- she hated the therapy and does not want to go again! She loves to read and I have hope that someone might suggest a book that may help her ! She read quiet by Susan kain which helped her see her introvert -ness as valuable! I also appreciate prayers!!

I am also 17 years old.I am extremely sensitive, introverted, anxious as well. I have tried four different therapists before I found ‘the right one.’ It takes time to get comfortable with therapy. Don’t give up.

Some books that I would recommend for her are It’s Kind of a Funny Story by Ned Vizzini, Perks of Being a Wallflower by Stephen Chbosky, Speak by Laurie Halse Anderson, and The Truth About Forever by Sarah Dessen. These are all YA Fiction books that are relatable, easy to read, and helpful. 🙂

I am the same and would also suggest “The Highly Sensitive Person” By elaine Allen and “Too Loud Too Bright Too Fast Too tight” which helps with the extra feely’s and “Be happy without being perfect” Alice Domar and “Pretending to be Normal” by Laine Holliday “Please Understand Me” By Kiersey and Mans Search for Meaning by Victor Frankl and Wisdom Distilled from the Daily By Joan Chittister. All those books greatly helped me on my journey toward less sensory overload and peace:)

This book comes to mind, “The Highly Sensitive Person” by Elaine Aron Ph.D.

And even though they may seem off topic books like “A New Earth” by Eckhart Tolle
and
“The Untethered Soul” by Michael Singer
might help with feeling anxious. The main message that “we are not out thoughts” and we can step back and observe them and not get emotionally caught up by them is very powerful. It’s something I’m still trying to learn and put into practice myself.

I also agree with Melissa, it is worth trying to find a therapist that fits.
I’m glad you found one Melissa.

And Jennifer, you are a good mom – being there for your daughter and trying to find things to help her.
Love to you both and Melissa too.

Thank you for sharing your story. I went to an elite college of over achievers (academics, sports, student government, you name it!) and found that many of my new college friends suffered from eating disorders. I remember when I tried to discuss this with my doctor father, he just didn’t get it- neither the intensity, scale, or severity of the issue for my friends or those of us trying to support the,. Thank you for sharing your story and raising awareness of this important issue. I’m so glad you had such a supportive family and received the care you needed.

As always, you speak the truth with braveness and love, covered in grace. THANK YOU for telling your story so honestly.

P.S. – I had a dream last night that a local group brought you in as a speaker, and I got to go shopping with you for food. In my mind/dreams, you are not *just* a recovering bulemic, but ALWAYS someone who is silly, LOVES to eat, and is heart-wrenching-ly real. I woke up very sad to realize that it was just a dream, that i really HADN’T gotten to just hang out with you.

God knew I wouldn’t be able to come back from the edge. Someone found me before I got sick enough to get caught. This is a daring post. Our community had a hospital unit devoted to eating disorders. It was so prevalent in my high school, that every English class had to attend an assembly every year. “If you or your friend…”

Thank you for your truth today, G. I had forgotten how young you were when the bulimia started. Wow.
I applaud your parents for their support and vital decision to get you the help you needed, when you asked. All of you were/are brave!
Last, I so identify with your photo at 14 and your statement about, “People who need help sometimes look a lot like people who don’t need help.” My put together, up-to-date clothed, thin self had much darker things going on inside. I have never been hospitalized, but believe me, I have wanted to be! A two week break from the normalcy of laundry, empting the dishwasher, carpool, temper tantrums, etc. would be a respite! But, I’ll just ‘show up’ again today!
Thank you, again for sharing.

Thank you so much for sharing. I should be in a hospital right now. I’m in counseling, I’m a cutter and as darkness approaches every night so does the darkness in my soul. I fight the thoughts of suicide everyday. From the outside I have everyone fooled. I’m sure if any of my family or friends had any idea of what I think about everyday it would scare them. I’m a survivor of rape. I had an appt. yesterday with a autoimmune dr that told me I was smart and beautiful. When I left he gave me a full body hug that literally gave me the creeps. Just thinking about it gives me the “I can’t breathe feeling”. I don’t understand why I attract creeps. There is absolutely nothing special about me. Anyway, thank you for sharing everything that you do share. It does help.

Creeps have a way of sensing vulnerability. I’ve seen this predatory sixth sense even in very young children. If you can summon the strength, please report this man to the AMA. His behavior was absolutely inappropriate in any context.

My name is Melissa and I’m 17. I’ve struggled with anxiety, depression, self harm, and suicidal thoughts as well. I don’t know you, but I want you to know that I care.

You are so unbelievably loved and your life has value, even if you don’t see it right now. The world would not be the same without you. As someone who has also struggled with self harm, I can understand what it feels like. Recovering from self harm has been the hardest thing that I have ever done – but it is so worth it. I have now been clean for almost 15 months. Recovery IS possible.

The pain you’re in is real and valid and you don’t deserve it at all. But please trust me on this. Life is so, so, SO much more than the things you are going through right now. It’s so much more than this pain and suffering, and it’s more than the present and the people around you and the situation you’re in. Everything changes so fast and so much. Your life will be so much bigger and fuller than you can imagine right now. You’re going to be rid of these awful feelings a lot sooner than you think. It might be hard to believe, but it’s going to surprise you the same way it surprised me. It gets better. <3

Please get the help that you need and take care of yourself. If you think that you need to be in a mental hospital, then you should go. It is so scary to take that jump and say 'I need help.' But it's important. Would you tell a friend or family member that there is nothing special about them and they don't deserve to get help? No. Then why should you treat yourself any different? Treat yourself like you would a friend or a family member – it's much easier said than done, I know.

YOU DID NOTHING WRONG. YOU ARE PERFECT AS YOU ARE. Remember that. You did nothing to deserve any of this. You are so strong and beautiful and brave. Thank you for sharing part of your story, that takes courage. Stay strong and know that you are never ever EVER alone.

Steel, you are special and beautiful in every way. Fwiw I have a team of docs, and I have many that are sweet and huggers. I’m ok with that but you are completely justified in your feelings. Just extend a hand to force a distance and lock your arm to keep them there, and shake hands if you feel like it. No one should touch you without your permission…it’s only now that I am comfortable with male doctors.

Please get help. I’m a cutter….My anxiety creeps in at night as well. You are NOT alone. I’ve called crisis lines and it helped. You deserve this and you deserve compassion and love for yourself. Xo

You are not alone. I am not alone. We are not alone. I may never be “fixed” I don’t think there is a fix for those of us that fight these disorders. I am just trying to not hate myself, to care for me, maybe even love me.

Thank you for sharing this with all of us. You make me feel less alone. Last year, at age 16, I was in a mental hospital for anxiety, depression, self harm, and sucidial thoughts. I have never found the words to be able to write about my experience there, but I am so glad that you were able to write something so raw and beautiful. It’s a journey that never ends and I really look up to you. I hope some day I can turn out like you. You are so strong and you inspire me. Thank you for making yourself vulnerable and sharing your story with us. Xoxo

10th grade for me. Bukimic and suicide attempt. This post today was for me. On the edge again. And probably a zillion other people. The edge is safer when you know you are not alone. I feel like I am slowly losing my mind. I just wish I weren’t so able to observe it like an outsider.

Hang in there Stacey. I often feel like I am losing my mind too. The world can be so overwhelming. I hope you find what you need to feel connected to yourself in a positive way again. Reach out for help. You are worth it. There is not another you alive! We need you. Peace and love-

Thank you for sharing this. I too was hospitalized for an eating disorder in my teens but not in a psychiatric hospital because that wouldn’t look right. Four years ago my son told me he felt like hurting himself and needed help right then. And we admitted him right then–you’re right–it was hard for your parents but so worth it. Thank you for living out loud.

I admire and honor your truths and hope you serve as a shining example to others – women especially – that it’s time to live in truth and not hide behind shame, regrets, guilt. We are each on our own imperfect journey and anyone who thinks someone else’s journey is perfect…just doesn’t see the truth.

Oh Glennon, my heart hurts for that girl that you were, and maybe still are a little. Just as I can’t imagine the pain you were going through, I am literally sitting at my desk at work in tears for the pain your parents were going through as well. As parents all we want are for our children to be happy and healthy; God Bless your parents for not trying to talk you out of going to a hospital no matter what people on the outside may have thought. God Bless you all.

Do not be afraid that girl is still very much a part of you but not who you are. I was in the 11th grade when I stayed in a mental hospital. I think back now as a parent how hard it must have been for my parents to admit me and walk away and I am sad for them. The people I met also still roam around in my mind as they were 20 years ago, They will forever be there that way and I can only pray they got better. Their stories shaped who i became after the break and it is their stories that provided me with strength to be happy. Thank you for sharing and allowing me to remember them today.

I’ve known people struggling with eating disorders. I understand a little bit better the journey. Hopefully, that means I’m better at supporting them. Thank you for your honesty, it’s made me a better person.

Oh Glennon, I too was a psychiatric patient many years ago. When they moved me to the Eating Disorder unit my parents questioned it because I have never been “that thin”.
Just recently I have begun to write about my relationship with food and emotions and mental health.
Thank you for reaching your hand out, I feel safer somehow.

Sweet Glennon, your willingness to show vulnerability will help so many others to own theirs. I too, spent time in “rehab”… Sierra Tucson in AZ.. The difference is that I was 47; took a disability leave from my job, and left my world as it existed behind. I told my then “therapist” that instead of talking about how well I was doing, and the weather, that I had ” to be locked up”! I am now 71, have recently lost weight I have gained over the past 24 years- and am so tempted to “keep going..”. I am grateful that I can see the danger of this.. And have a good talking to myself. Thank you for sharing this painful story!

Wow, this is so true. Thank you for sharing. I remember my first hospital stay – and all of the dozens that occurred over the next five years. The psych ward really does feel safe – no one judges you because there’s nothing to hide. Even though I’ve happily been out of the hospital for four years now, reading this makes me realize that there’s a small part of me that wistfully recalls that safety. And it helps me to remember why I now want so much to become an art therapist myself – because it’s a language for those who don’t have words.